


i don't need my love (you can take it)

by firefall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, A Kissing Journey, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Platonic Kissing, [Snoop Dogg Voice] Greetings Loved Ones Let's Take A Journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefall/pseuds/firefall
Summary: Stiles knocks his knee against Scott’s.  His voice is quiet when he says, “We kiss good together.”Finally,finallyScott lets himself smile, turning onto his side so their noses are almost touching.  “I think we do,” he agrees, his eyes flicking down to Stiles’ mouth for just a fraction of a second.  “Everything is good when we’re together.”Or: 5 times Stiles kissed Scott and 1 time Scott initiated





	i don't need my love (you can take it)

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know how honest you're supposed to be in author's notes, but I dusted off this old WIP to help with the grieving process after my grandpa passed and finally managed to finish it. So if it's extra sappy and emo...that's why lol.
> 
> Warnings for: some swearing and mentions of a canonical suicide attempt (I'm sure you know which one). It's not graphic at all, though.
> 
> Many thanks to Eva (eavis/nothanksweregood) for convincing me I don't suck. You're a blessing to me and I love you :')
> 
> Title is from Never Enough by One Direction. Section titles are from Fake You Out by twenty one pilots, Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift & Ed Sheeran, History by One Direction, Night Terror by Laura Marling, Edge Of Tonight by All Time Low, and Life Of The Party by All Time Low (again oops).
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not profiting off this work and the characters belong to Teen Wolf and Jeff Davis which is something I bemoan every single day.

**(1) you say i’m not alone, but i am petrified**

By the time Stiles’ mom finally gets them to school, it’s so late the class is already on the playground.  He’s missed morning snack and calendar time – both of which are his _favorites_ because sometimes the teacher lets him pass out the crackers or pin the date on the board – and all because Mommy lost her keys.  By the time Stiles found them in his sock drawer, school had already started.

It’s okay, though.  Dad says that stuff happens sometimes and he shouldn’t let it bother him.  So instead of being sad, he races to the sandbox where he and Scott have been working on a sand city the past couple days.  It’s slow going since most of it falls down overnight, but they’re going to build the police station today and Stiles is so excited his whole body is twitching.

But when he gets to the sandbox, Scott isn’t there.  The remains of the grocery store and train station greet him in all their sandy glory, but their co-creator is nowhere to be seen.

A little worried, Stiles scans the playground, squinting his eyes up like he’s seen his dad do at the station, case files spread out in front of him.  It doesn’t work any better for him than it does for his dad and by the time he’s covered the area three times, a sick disappointment is swirling in his tummy.

Never one to give up easily, Stiles skips over to the monkey bars where Danny has his tongue poked out in concentration, swinging from bar to bar.  He’s made it over halfway and Stiles is impressed – he can only do two before he falls to the ground.

“Hey, have you seen Scott?” Stiles shouts up at him because Danny is the nicest boy in school even though he’s already _five_.  Not like Jackson who called Scott a baby last week and made him cry.  Stiles doesn’t like Jackson.  “He’s lost.”

Carefully, Danny swings to the last bar and then drops to the ground.  “He’s hiding under the slide,” he says, then frowns a little.  “I think he’s sad.”

That makes Stiles’ eyes widen.  “Oh no!” he cries, spinning around so fast he almost topples over.  He grabs onto the ladder to get his balance and then he’s off, his hands curled into little fists as he makes a beeline for the big blue slide that he’s just barely tall enough to go on.

Sure enough, Scott is huddled beneath it, just like Danny said.  He’s hiding in his knees so all Stiles can see is the top of his head, his black hair messy like maybe Mrs. McCall didn’t have time to brush it that morning.  Stiles’ stomach sinks when he hears a sniffle.  Scott is crying.

Concerned, Stiles flops into the dirt beside his best friend and exclaims, putting as much happiness into his voice as he can, “Hey Scotty!”

Scott sits up so fast he bumps his head against the bottom of the slide.  “You’re here?” he says in surprise, his voice wobbly with tears.  There’s snot running out of his nose, but Stiles is a good friend so he pretends there isn’t.  Sometimes that happens when you cry.  “I thought you weren’t coming!”

“Mommy lost her keys again,” Stiles tells him and Scott nods, used to Mrs. Stilinski’s forgetfulness.  Then Stiles wrinkles his nose thoughtfully.  “Why are you sad?”

“I don’t like being by myself,” Scott sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.  “You weren’t here and my mom had to go to work and I was _scared_!”  He says the last part like a wail and new tears start running down his face, making him choke a little.

Watching Scott cry makes Stiles want to cry too, but he fights it off as best he can.  One of them has to stay strong.  Desperate to make his friend feel better, he grabs Scott by the face and kisses him square on the mouth.  Scott’s lips are wet with tears and spit, but kisses from Mom always help Stiles stop crying so he does it anyway.  Scott’s mom isn’t here right now, but maybe Stiles can be the next best thing.

When Stiles pulls away, Scott is staring at him.  Then he breaks into giggles.  “You give funny kisses,” he says, but Stiles doesn’t mind.  All kisses are funny.  “You squished my face!”

“And _you_ stopped crying!” Stiles says triumphantly, making Scott’s eyes go big like he hadn’t noticed.  Satisfied with his results, Stiles jumps to his feet, buzzing with energy once again.  “We should go work on our city now!”

Scott stands up, but hesitates at the edge of the slide.  “I don’t wanna go out there,” he whispers.

Rocking up on his tiptoes, Stiles looks at him in confusion.  “Why not?  You’re all better now.  I fixed you.”

Scott’s eyes dart around nervously, watching the other kids run around the playground, laughing and shouting at the top of their lungs.  Stiles wants so badly to go play, but he makes himself stay still for Scott.  “Jackson’s gonna call me a baby again.”

That makes Stiles cross his arms angrily.  “You are _not_ a baby,” he says fiercely, hoping his best friend will believe him.  “You’re _four_ …just like me.  And you’re way braver than Jackson, even if you get sad sometimes.”

It seems to work, because Scott breaks into a small smile and inches his way out of their hiding spot to step into the bright sun.  “Okay,” he says, grabbing Stiles’ hand and not letting go.  “Let’s go play.”

Within minutes they’re covered in sand from head to toe.  Stiles can feel some in his shoes, but he’s much too excited about their police station to care.  Just as he’s about to turn over the first bucket of sand, Scott asks from where he’s collecting sticks, “Can we build the hospital instead?  I wanna make my mom’s desk.”

Stiles is about to argue – they’ve been planning this police station since _Monday_ – but Scott looks so hopeful, Stiles snaps his mouth shut.  He just wants Scott to be happy.  “Yeah,” he agrees, grabbing a woodchip that’s perfect for the Beacon Hills Memorial sign.  “Yeah Scotty, we can make the hospital.”

 

**(2) your eyes look like coming home**

Stiles spends most of his eighth birthday at the police station huddled in his father’s lap, making himself as small as possible.  He’s tall and gangly for his age and barely fits between his dad’s chest and the desk, but Dad is just working around him, leaning forward to click at his computer and breaking every so often to run a comforting hand down Stiles’ back.  Sheriff Adams keeps glancing at them from his office, but he hasn’t said a word since this morning when Dad informed him that no, Stiles would _not_ be going to school today and he should mind his own damn business.

Any other time, it might have been funny, but not today.  Today Mom had locked Stiles out of the house thinking he was trying to rob her and then called the police when he tried to get back inside.  Luckily, dispatch handed the phone off to Dad and he was able to talk her down just long enough to send Tara to collect Stiles and bring him to the station.  He hasn’t moved since.

Eventually he has to go to the bathroom so he shimmies out of his dad’s lap and lands on tingling feet, his body not used to sitting still for so long.  By the time he comes back, hands full of clammy M&M’s from the lady at the front desk, Dad is packing up, shoving papers into his briefcase as he talks into the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder.  “Thanks, Melissa,” he mumbles before he hangs up.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks around a mouthful of candy.  “Are you done?”

“Nope,” his dad says matter-of-factly, holding out Stiles’ jacket so he can slide his arms into the sleeves.  “But we’re going home, kiddo.  You’re not spending your entire birthday at work.”

Stiles hesitates, wringing his hands nervously.  “But what about the Sheriff?” he whispers, throwing a furtive glance in the man’s general direction.  “And money?  Mom has all those doctor’s appointments and—”

“ _Stiles_.”  Dad sighs deep and long, draping Stiles’ jacket over his shoulders when it becomes clear that he isn’t going to do it himself.  “Be a kid, okay?  Let _me_ worry about that stuff.”  Then he huffs, crossing his arms like he does when he’s pretending to be tough.  “So are you gonna go peacefully or do I have to pick you up like a little kid and shove you into the back of the car?”

“You’re _not_ picking me up,” Stiles says petulantly because he hasn’t been carried since he was five, thank you very much.  Unless you count the time he rolled his ankle in Scott’s back yard and Mrs. McCall had to help him into the house, which Stiles doesn’t.  Injury is something else entirely.

“Can we go then?”

Stiles chews on his lip for just a second more before nodding begrudgingly.  “I _guess_.”

All misgivings melt away when they turn the corner onto their street and Stiles sees the McCall’s minivan parked in their driveway.  He bounces in the backseat.  “Scotty’s here?” he cries, jabbing at this seatbelt and letting out a loud groan of frustration when it takes too long to release.  “You didn’t tell me he was coming!”

“It’s called a _surprise_ , kid,” Dad says but Stiles hardly hears him.  He’s already out of the car and racing through the yard, jumping over Mom’s watering can and teetering on his feet for a second before he finally gets his bearings.  He’s so excited to see his best friend that he almost forgets what happened that morning.

Almost.

As he stands before the front door, hand reaching for the knob, it all comes rushing back in bursts of color and loud metallic crashes and screams of _get away from me_ and _I’m calling the cops_.  Stiles flinches.  Luckily Dad is right behind him, stepping up onto the porch and setting a steady hand on each of Stiles’ shoulders before he can work himself up into a hyperventilating tizzy.  “It’s okay,” his dad promises quietly.  “You can go inside.”

So Stiles takes a deep breath and does as he’s told, pushing the door open slowly like he’s expecting to be met with a baseball bat.  Instead he’s met with his mother’s smiling face and the entire McCall family shouting “Happy birthday!” at the top of their voices.  There are streamers taped to the ceiling and blue and green balloons strewn lazily across the floor.  There’s even a small stack of presents piled on top of the coffee table.  All Stiles can do is stare, speechless for the first time in his life.

Scott, on the other hand, has no such hang-ups.  He chatters away happily as he pulls Stiles through the house, showing him the birthday cake they brought over from Walmart.  There’s a little Spider-Man action figure standing in the middle of it, arms raised like he’s about to web up a bad guy, and it finally cuts through the dazed fog that’s fallen over Stiles’ brain.  “That’s so cool!” he cries, excited jitters zinging through his body until he’s practically buzzing with energy.  “We can take turns playing with him after dinner!”

“You’ll share even though you just got it?” Scott asks, tone a mixture of shock and delight.

“Yeah!” Stiles promises and he means it.  There’s not a thing on earth he wouldn’t share with Scott.

The rest of the night is a whirlwind of laughter and candles and hands ruffling Stiles’ hair fondly.  Stiles isn’t supposed to have much sugar – something about hyperactivity and reckless behavior – but it’s a special occasion so Mom lets him have two pieces of cake, sliding over the second one with a wink that has him grinning from ear to ear.  It makes him feel warm and _loved_ all the way down to his toes, his fear gone.

It’s a good day in a string of really, really bad ones and Stiles had almost forgotten that life could be like this.  That his mom could be happy and _present_ and his dad could laugh so hard his eyes start watering.  That even Mr. McCall could drop the baggage long enough to wrap an arm around Scott’s mom and press his lips to the top of her head. 

But Scott?  Scott’s the one thing Stiles could _never_ forget.  Because Scott is good even on the bad days.

Which is why Stiles leans across the box with the brand new Nerf gun and presses a kiss to Scott’s mouth, suddenly so overcome with emotion he’s afraid he’ll explode into a million tiny pieces if he doesn’t.  Scott just laughs against his lips, poking him in the belly as he pulls away.  “You’re weird,” he says happily, dark eyes shining.  “The weirdest, actually.”

“Says _you_!” Stiles retorts but he doesn’t mean it.  He _is_ weird, but Scott is, too.

Their parents are watching them with amusement in their eyes as Stiles goes back to his presents, enthusiastically balling up the wrapping paper and throwing it at his dad’s head. 

Stiles is a Stilinski so he knows he won’t have to wait long for the other shoe to drop and paint the world gray again.  It could be five days or it could be only five minutes, but right now he’s eight and he’s happy and he’s surrounded by people who love him so he lets it be.

 

**(3) we could be the greatest team the world has ever seen**

They’re in seventh grade when Scott gets his first girlfriend.  Her name is Mariah and she’s got long black hair and pretty dark eyes and swears in Spanish at every minor inconvenience.  Scott worships the ground she walks on and Stiles thinks she’s pretty cool, too.  That is, until Scott stumbles into Stiles’ room one Saturday afternoon with the corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes blinking rapidly like he’s trying not to cry.

Stiles is on his feet in an instant.  “What’s up, buddy?” he asks, hurrying past Scott to close his bedroom door then leading his best friend over to sit on the bed.  “What happened?”

“Mariah broke up with me!” Scott cries, flinging himself backwards and narrowly missing the wall with his head.  “We were supposed to hang out today, but she broke up with me instead!”

“Ouch,” Stiles winces compassionately.  “That sucks.  Did she say why?  It’s only been a month.  Not even _you_ could scare someone away that fast!”

It’s a joke, of _course_ it is, but Scott doesn’t laugh.  Instead he turns over and buries his face in Stiles’ pillow.  “ _Mmm hmm mughh_ ,” he says, kicking his legs a little in annoyance.  “ _Mmm_!”

Rolling his eyes to himself, Stiles carefully takes Scott by the ankles and moves his kicky feet out of the way so he has room to sit.  Then he says, voice light, “You’re gonna have to turn your face to the side, dude.  I missed all of that.”

Energy renewed, Scott rips his face from the pillow, nostrils flaring.  “She says I’m a bad kisser!” he practically shouts, tone anguished.  “Like _really_ bad!  Like _you can’t be my boyfriend anymore_ bad.”

Stiles is affronted, belly going hot with righteous anger.  “That’s _bullshit_ ,” he spits, folding his arms across his chest.  “What does she know?”

“A _lot_ , Stiles,” Scott sighs, body going limp like his outburst sapped all of his energy.  He flings his arm out until it dangles off the edge of the bed.  “She’s had boyfriends before.”

“That doesn’t mean she knows what she’s talking about,” Stiles points out – quite astutely, in his own opinion.  “Maybe _she’s_ the bad kisser and doesn’t even know it!”

“No, it’s me,” Scott disagrees and he sounds so upset about it Stiles starts to feel a bit sick.  He _hates_ when Scott is sad – it crawls under his skin like a wriggling parasite, biting at his nerves and screaming _fix it fix it fix it!_ over and over until he’s nearly beside himself.  But Stiles is so much better at breaking things than fixing them.  He always has been. 

He feels helpless.

But what Stiles lacks in emotional intelligence he makes up for in impulsivity, so he lunges forward to flip Scott onto his back,  sits on his stomach, and fiercely kisses him right on the lips.  Scott goes rigid for a second, completely shocked, but relaxes into it quickly, letting Stiles twine his fingers into his fluffy dark hair. 

Now, if there ever actually _was_ a bad kisser in the world it’s Stiles and he has to pull away much too quickly, light-headed from lack of oxygen.  But Scott doesn’t seem to mind, staring up at Stiles with big eyes and pink cheeks.  There’s a hint of a grin tugging at his lips, like he wants to say something but can’t figure out what.

“See?” Stiles says, climbing off of his best friend to lie next to him on the bed.  “You seem pretty good to me!”

“That’s because you’ve never kissed anyone else,” Scott says, but he’s blushing all the same.

“So what?  It was still good!”  Stiles knocks his knee against Scott’s.  His voice is quiet when he says, “We kiss good together.”

Finally, _finally_ Scott lets himself smile, turning onto his side so their noses are almost touching.  “I think we do,” he agrees, his eyes flicking down to Stiles’ mouth for just a fraction of a second.  “Everything is good when we’re together.”

“Damn right,” Stiles says and when Scott buries his face in Stiles’ neck, he just holds him tight.

 

**(4) if you want him, you’re gonna have to fight me**

Everything smells like gasoline.  Lydia had forced both Stiles and Scott into the closest shower, making them take turns under the showerhead until their hair and clothes were soaked and dripping, so Stiles is probably imagining it.  But every single time he takes a breath, his nose fills with the harsh, sickening smell of chemicals. That’s why his eyes keep watering.

Or at least…that’s what he tells himself, anyway.  Because if that’s not true, then he’s silently weeping on a bus full of high schoolers next to his best friend who had nearly died just a few hours ago.

The bus seats are small and Stiles can feel every minute movement Scott makes, including the way he’s trembling from head to toe.  When Scott folds his hands in his lap, tightly clasping them like it can make the shaking stop, Stiles thinks _fuck it_ and stops fighting, a tear skating down his cheek.  He’s not going to pretend like this is okay.  _Nothing_ about this is okay.

Scott must be able to smell the salt of his tears, because he turns to Stiles in alarm.  “Are you alright?” he whispers, voice going a little high-pitched like it does when he’s anxious.  “What can I do?”

It’s so absurdly _Scott_ to forget about his problems in the face of someone else’s that Stiles can’t help but laugh, nearly choking when it tries to get stuck on the lump in his throat.  “You’re unbelievable,” he says thickly.  “You never stop.”

“Stop what?”  Scott is genuinely confused.

Rather than answer him, Stiles glances around furtively before slouching down in his seat to drop a kiss onto Scott’s shoulder.  Then it’s like he can’t stop, burrowing his face into Scott’s jacket and clutching the denim sleeves in his fists, terrified of letting his best friend out of his sight ever again.  If he holds on tight enough, maybe Scott will _stay_. 

Because last night, hands reaching for the flare and eyes filled with tears, Stiles had a moment of pure clarity.  A moment where he realized that a life without Scott wasn’t a life worth living.  So he’d taken that first step into the gasoline and he hadn’t looked back.

But now it’s morning and they’re alive and Stiles is still crying.  “I meant it, you know,” he says into Scott’s shoulder, purposefully keeping his voice so low only a wolf could hear it.  “I really do need you.”

Scott smooths a hand over Stiles’ back, gentle as always.  It makes him shudder.  “I know.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”  Stiles’ breath hitches.  “ _Please_.”

Scott makes a hurt noise deep in his throat, pulling back just the tiniest bit to coax Stiles out of hiding so he can look him in the face.  “I won’t…that wasn’t me.  I was out of my head,” he promises, eyes soft and forehead knit together in concern.  Then, once he’s sure Stiles is okay – or some facsimile of it, because when are they ever okay? – his face goes hard with anger.  “Someone made sure of it.”

And just like that, Stiles is angry, too.  Angry for Scott and angry for himself.  For Isaac and Boyd and Heather and Emily and anyone else that psychopath had ever gone after.  Or would go after in the future.  The anger is red-hot and all-encompassing and it _hurts_ , but it’s so much better than crying and feeling helpless so Stiles embraces it with all he’s got. 

“I’m not gonna let them hurt you, Scott…whoever they are,” Stiles swears, stubbornly clenching his jaw and curling his hands into fists.  “And I know that’s probably not that comforting since I don’t have claws and fangs and supernatural strength, but—”

Scott cuts him off with a hand on his knee.  “Don’t be like that,” he says, shaking his head almost wildly.  “Dude, you saved my life last night _without_ all of that and—”  He swipes a hand down his face, overwhelmed.  “I need you, too.”

There’s an argument on the tip of Stiles’ tongue but for once in his life, he manages to bite it back.  He’ll let Scott have this one.  He deserves that and more.  So, _I need you_ echoing in his head, Stiles laces his fingers with Scott’s right there on the bus and thinks about _I love you_ instead.

 

**(5) for every one of my mistakes you gave me only chances**

They’ve never been this careful around each other before.  The easy, almost effortless nature of their friendship was something Stiles took for granted while they still had it and now that it’s gone he doesn’t know what to do.  They’re…okay, technically.  They’ve talked and they’ve apologized and they’ve spent hours side-by-side on the road through the desert, stock-still in their seats not from tension between them but from nerves at what saving Kira from the Skinwalkers might entail. 

It’d gone fine.  Kira’s safe for now.  But somehow the string connecting Stiles to Scott still feels thin and frayed.

Which is why he lets his phone ring four times when it lights up with Scott’s name.  The very thought of talking to Scott makes his stomach twist with nerves and his heart beat hard in his chest, but he can’t let it go to voicemail because this is Beacon Hills and the number one rule of living in Beacon Hills is that you answer your damn phone.  People die if you don’t. 

Stiles’ mouth is dry when he finally picks up.  “What’s up?” he mumbles, voice tight with uncertainty.

There’s silence on the other side long enough that Stiles wonders if the call was an accident.  The thought bothers him more than it should considering he hadn’t wanted to pick up in the first place.  But just as he’s about to end the call, Scott finally speaks up, voice as tentative as Stiles feels.  “Can you come to my house?”

Stiles blinks in surprise.  “Um, sure?  Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine!  Or…as fine as they can be when we’ve still got Dread Doctors and chimeras running around.”  Scott’s laughter sounds nervous and awkward and Stiles cringes at what they’ve let themselves become.  It’s _awful_.  “I just need your help with something.”

“I’ll be right there,” Stiles promises, then adds, letting his eyes fall closed and his hand tighten almost painfully around his phone, “You know I’ve always got your back.”

He means it with all of his heart, but the statement still echoes in his ears like a gunshot.  Luckily, Scott doesn’t let it hang in the air for long, just whispers back, “I know.” 

Stiles doesn’t have supernatural hearing but he’s pretty sure Scott was smiling when he said it.

They hang up without saying goodbye – it’s a taste of normalcy in the midst of all this _weird_ and Stiles’ body goes warm for a fleeting second – and then Stiles is on his way.  His jeep makes it all the way to Scott’s street before it decides to crap out, rolling to a stop in front of the neighbor’s house with steam pouring from the front end.  “You did good, buddy,” Stiles says, giving his car a reassuring pat on the dashboard.  “I’ll come fix you later.”

Stiles jogs the last block to Scott’s house and fights through the powerful unease that’s telling him to knock and wait to be let in.  He’s never knocked before – he actually still has a copy of Scott’s house key on his keyring – and he can’t start now.  Not if they ever want to get back to normal.

So he pushes his way inside and finds Scott by himself at the kitchen table, head in his hands as he stares down at a white envelope set carefully in the middle of one of the placemats.  He doesn’t look up when Stiles sinks into the chair beside him – he just wordlessly pushes the envelope over to Stiles.

It’s from UC Davis and it’s still sealed.

Stiles makes an inquisitive sound, terrified of being the first to speak, and Scott’s head drops even lower.  “I can’t open it,” he says, voice soft.  “I’m scared.”

A pang of sympathy and affection slams into Stiles’ chest so hard it makes his entire body hurt.  He knows how badly Scott wants this – he’s talked of nothing else since sending in his application – and no amount of fighting and deception and feeling lost and cold and alone could erase the desperate care Stiles has for Scott.  If Scott wants this, Stiles wants it, too.  So, _so_ badly.

“I’ll do it,” Stiles says resolutely.  “I’ll tell you what it says, okay?”

“I was hoping you would,” Scott admits, finally looking up at Stiles with tired brown eyes.  Stiles wonders when he last got a good night’s sleep.  “I could ask my mom or Kira but…I wanted it to be you.”

It takes a second for the full weight of Scott’s words to come crashing down, but when it does Stiles finds himself fighting tears.  “Okay,” he says, voice breaking on the last syllable.  “Okay.  Let’s do this.”

Then he slides his finger between the layers of the envelope and tears it open.  He ends up completely destroying it just like all of his birthday cards, but Scott doesn’t seem to care, watching with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and his hands shaking.  If Stiles could hear his heartbeat, he’s sure it would be racing.  

“ _To Mr. Scott McCall_ ,” Stiles reads, heart in his throat. “ _It is with immense pleasure that I inform you of your acceptance into the veterinary medicine program at the University of California, Davis_.”  He breaks into a smile, flicking his eyes up at Scott with excitement coursing through his veins.  “There’s a lot more words after that, but that’s the important part.”

Scott, for his part, is in a state of shock.  “I made it in?” he cries, disbelief written across his face.  He’s stiff in his chair, muscles tight with anxiety.  “I actually did it?”

“You actually did it, Scotty,” Stiles confirms, sliding the paper back over so he can see it.  “Read it for yourself!”

Scott snatches the letter off the table and lets his eyes rake over the paper, bouncing in his seat as the tension drains from his body and a gasp falls from between his lips like he’d been holding his breath.  “Holy shit!” he says, smiling so big his eyes crinkle.  “ _Stiles_!”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees and suddenly he’s aching.  Aching for the way things used to be, aching for _Scott_.  Voice gone desperate, Stiles swallows hard around the tightness in his throat and chokes out, lips trembling, “I wanna kiss you.  _Please_.”

Just two months ago it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but things are different now – _they’re_ different now – and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut tight and waits for the fallout.

He’s scared out of his mind.

But there is no fallout, just Scott’s strong hands on Stiles’ shoulders and his quiet voice saying, “Then do it, Stiles.  Do it if you want to.”

Stiles has lost a lot of who he is over the years, but one thing he _hasn’t_ lost is his impulsivity, so he does as he’s told, letting his eyes fly open and sliding out of his chair to stand before Scott.  “I’m proud of you,” he says, then bends down to kiss Scott – to kiss his _best friend_ – as gently as he can.  Because if anyone deserves gentle, if anyone deserves the very best of Stiles, it’s Scott.

It’s barely two seconds before they pull away and Stiles can’t help but laugh when he sees that they’re both crying.  “We’re a mess,” he says, knuckling his tears away.  “What the hell is wrong with us?”

“So much,” Scott says and when he smiles it’s wistful.  “But we’re getting better.”

Stiles nods fiercely, decisively.  “And we’ll _keep_ getting better.” 

Then, to prove how much he means it, Stiles grabs Scott’s wrist to pull him out of his chair and wraps his arms around him in a tight hug.  Scott clings to him instantly, hiding his face in Stiles’ shoulder like he was waiting for permission…which is ridiculous considering Stiles just _kissed_ him.  But if there’s one thing Stiles understands it’s fear, so he lets Scott cling for as long as he needs to.

“I’m sorry.” Scott’s voice is muffled against Stiles’ skin.  “For everything.”

“None of that,” Stiles tells him, taking a handful of Scott’s t-shirt and crumbling it in his fist.  “We’re not looking back anymore…got it?”

“Got it,” Scott agrees and gets back to clinging.

 

**(+1) it’s four in the morning and i’m trying to fix myself**

“Collecting strays again?”

That’s the first thing Stiles had said when he walked into Scott’s apartment to find Elisa on the couch with Alec, kicking her feet excitedly as she passes him up in Mario Kart.  Scott had laughed and cuffed his best friend upside the head, but the thing is…Stiles isn’t wrong.  Scott’s earned quite the reputation since high school – it isn’t often that an alpha opens their doors to any golden-eyed omegas in search of a pack. 

Derek’s started calling the apartment Scott McCall’s Home For The Supernatural Downtrodden and he’s probably right.  Scott has no regrets, though.  His power was forced on him against his will, but now that he has it, he’s going to use it to help others to the best of his ability.

“She doesn’t have anyone else,” Scott had explained, nodding over at Elisa.  “She’s only twelve, man.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Stiles had assured him, eyes shining as he flung an arm around Scott’s neck and led him to the kitchen where Malia and Liam were discussing something in increasingly loud voices.  “I’m just saying you care a _lot_ and I hope you have some care left over for yourself.”

“I do,” Scott had promised, heart feeling too big for his chest.  “You don’t need to worry about me…I’m okay.”

But now it’s past midnight and Scott is still awake, listening to the house like he does every night.  He trains his hearing to each person individually, relief flooding his bloodstream when he finds them all sleeping soundly.  Alec’s bedroom is silent save for his even breathing and Elisa’s is filled with quiet music, interrupted only by the sound of her soft snores.  Liam’s gone back to his dorm for the night, but Hayden’s passed out on the couch, heart beating calmly and evenly as she dreams.  Normally, Malia would be sleeping next to Scott, sprawled out to take more than her fair share of the bed, but she’s been antsy the past few weeks, opting to full-shift and spend the night in the woods every couple days.  It makes the bedroom feel cold, but Scott could never begrudge her the opportunity to feel free, to feel close to her family.  He knows she can take care of herself – and him too, if the need arises.

It’s a routine by now to flick through the list of the people he cares about most, making sure they’re all where they’re supposed to be – Mason and Corey at UCLA, his mom and Argent at home, the Sheriff at the Stilinski house, Lydia at her fancy grad school upstate – that when he gets to Stiles, his brain automatically fills in _FBI: Classified_ before he remembers his best friend’s sleeping on the living room floor.

So he listens just one more time, blocking out Hayden’s deep breathing from the couch to zero in on Stiles and finds that even though Stiles is sleeping, it’s not peacefully.  Scott can smell tears from all the way across the apartment.

Scott freezes in his bed, unsure of what to do.  He’s had his fair share of bad dreams and fitful nights – it kind of comes with the territory – but he knows that Stiles’ dreams can sometimes border on night terrors.  And he doubts Stiles wants to wake up screaming in a house full of people he’s sworn to protect.  Not that anyone would judge him, of _course_ they wouldn’t, but Scott would wager that waking up in your dad’s arms is much preferable to waking up surrounded by peers.

Stomach sick with worry, Scott wrestles with himself for a few moments before sitting up in bed, dead set on sneaking out to the living room to wake Stiles up before it gets bad.  But just as he’s pulling the covers aside, Stiles’ breathing changes and the tears stop.  He’s awake.

There’s the sound of footsteps in the hallway and then Scott’s bedroom door opens slowly.

If Stiles is surprised to see Scott still awake, he doesn’t mention it.  Instead, he tosses his pillow onto the bed and climbs in next to Scott.  “It’s not a big deal,” he mumbles, avoiding Scott’s eyes.  “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Okay,” Scott agrees easily, settling back and pulling the covers up over both of them. 

They lie in comfortable silence for a while, staring up at the ceiling, before Stiles turns on his side and whispers, “I know what you’re doing.”  Scott can feel his breath tickling the side of his face.  “Do you do it every night?”

Caught out but not surprised – he stopped questioning Stiles’ ability to read him a long time ago – Scott mirrors Stiles, turning until he’s nose-to-nose with his best friend.  “Yeah,” he admits, a bit embarrassed but not enough to lie.  “I need to make sure they’re safe.”

“They _are_ safe, Scott.  We all are.  You’ve made sure of it,” Stiles points out, but it’s gentle and makes Scott duck his head, cheeks going warm.  “So there’s no point in making yourself suffer when you don’t have to.  You’re only twenty-three, dude…you need to sleep.  You look like an old man.”

That makes Scott snort.  “Like you’re one to talk!  You _never_ sleep.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the alpha.”  Stiles laughs mirthlessly.  “Thank fuck.”

It’s a joke and Scott _knows_ it’s a joke, but Stiles reeks of self-doubt and the last remnants of his nightmare and Scott’s saying “Are you okay?” before he can stop himself.

Stiles rolls his eyes, just barely visible in the dark.  “I’m fine,” he says.  “And I want you to think about yourself for once.”

So Scott does.  He thinks about himself and he thinks about what he wants and then, eyes flicking down to Stiles’ mouth, he leans in close, waiting a second or two so Stiles knows it’s okay to pull away.  But Stiles holds steady, breath catching and fingers finding Scott’s jaw in the dark, so Scott goes for it, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ lips and letting his eyes fall closed.  It settles something inside Scott, finally silencing the voice that screams _not good enough you need to do more you’re gonna ruin everything_ until Stiles and warmth and _pack_ is all that’s left.

When they pull away, Stiles is grinning.  “Well, that’s different,” he breathes, somehow sounding both hesitant and over the moon about it.

And Scott _can’t_ have that, can’t have Stiles thinking that the kissing is something he’s just put up with over the years, so he quickly kisses Stiles again, sliding his fingers into the back of Stiles’ hair like it can erase any doubt as to where Scott stands.  “ _There_ ,” he says vehemently.  “Now it’s happened twice, so mathematically speaking it _can’t_ be different.”  

The shock on Stiles’ face dissolves into a giggling amusement.  “Holy _shit_ ,” he cries, clapping a hand over his eyes like he can’t even stand to look at Scott.  “My best friend is a fucking _nerd_.”

Scott laughs, too – he can’t help it.  “I wasn’t kidding!” he protests in a whisper, mindful of the people sleeping all around them.  “I meant it!”

“I _know_ and that’s the worst part!”

It takes a few minutes for their laughter to quiet, but once they calm down, they’re exhausted.  Even Scott’s eyes are starting to droop, body going loose with contentment.  “Sleep, buddy,” Stiles tells him, then turns so his back is to Scott, wordlessly inviting him to spoon up behind him.  Scott takes the invitation, slinging his arm over Stiles’ waist to rest his hand on his friend’s stomach.

His mind starts in on his list just _one_ last time, but he falls asleep before he can even get to Elisa and doesn’t wake up until noon.

**Author's Note:**

> The tumblr post for this work is [here](http://arolou.tumblr.com/post/167673887268/i-dont-need-my-love-you-can-take-it-pairing) so if you liked this, consider giving it a reblog :)


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